by Sami Salazar | Sep 19, 2025
Written by Louis Pelingen
Note: Spoilers Ahead.
‘Some Nights I Feel Like Walking’, the recently screened film by Petersen Vargas, is inhabited by queer street hustlers who’ll do anything to survive. Cruising in whatever establishments are available for them and participating in paid dates to earn their keep, situations rife with ecstasy where drugs are in high supply and naked bodies are vulnerably exposed, a heightened risk that shunned and isolated queer men have to accept. It is the reality that these lost souls undergo within the shadowy place of Manila, always engaging in other men’s lust despite acknowledging how temporary it all is. After all, lust can be easily felt, but intimacy is a gradual process that needs to be earned.
This general setup is tested when one of Uno’s (Jomari Angeles) closest friends, Miguelito (Gold Aceron), dies due to a drug overdose given by a reckless male client. A sudden incident that requires being faced under pressure. Uno, his other friends, and his newfound companion, Zion (Miguel Odron), now have to travel to the province to accomplish Miguelito’s final wish: to take him back to his home.
Across the film, it is within the performances of the main cast that harness the essence of queer bond. From Uno’s deliberate leadership, Bayani’s (Argel Saycon) protective demeanor, Rush’s (Tommy Alejandrino) emotive essence, and Zion’s shy yet methodical assistance are a dynamic that bounces off with another. They are the connective tissues that keep the film together, where moments of trust, disruption, and intimacy amongst one another unfold in insightful ways.
Of course, the technical aspects also add to the film’s overall beauty. Gorgeously lit lighting adds gloss to Russel Morton’s shots of the bodies and the faces sighted under the nocturnal settings of Manila and beyond; bursts of jaunty budots, darkly tinged beats, and shimmering electronica by Aly and Moe Cabral add a spectral flair to the intimate and the emotional; Eddie Huang’s focused sound design can be heard across subtle splashes of water, sharp footsteps, and crackles of fire that simultaneously soothes and snares the relationships between the cast.
Yet, for as much as the film is enraptured by the performances and all that technical detail, it’s diluted by how the film progresses. The road trip to Miguelito’s province becomes a bump to the first half’s gutwrenching grief. Dreamy sequences that are pretty to look at become diffused from the overall structure. The third act’s bold long take finds Zion and Uno in the space of the metaphysical and the physical, yet certain set pieces are engrossing when they tie into the film’s emotional thesis. Parsing through multiple stripes of amorphous backdrops that it never capitalizes on creating stronger connections to the characters themselves. An aspect that’s chained bit by bit, yet only clicks the most with the ending, where finally, the main ensemble lets go of their deceased friend in both the literal and the metaphorical sense. Their bonds become ever closer through the warm hug that they huddle into. Within this moment, their bodies are theirs to cherish, yet still willing to extend their tenderness to the bonds they’ve made with one another.
It is this conflicting dichotomy of the presentation and the structure that leaves ‘Some Nights I Feel Like Walking’ colder than it should be. Carried by eye-capturing performances, alongside scintillating visual and auditory design, but is held back by plot choices that distance the emotional resonance from themes of queer camaraderie and naked embrace of closeness that these queer men have with one another. It’s a flame whose heat should go bigger and brighter, but instead, its warmth only frustratingly stagnates till the very end.
by Sami Salazar | Sep 14, 2025
Written by: Louis Pelingen
Note: Spoilers Ahead.
DK and Hugh Welchman made a big name for themselves when they released Loving Vincent back in 2017, a technical marvel in animation due to how it achieved the daunting task: turning the meticulous process of oil painting into a feature-length animated piece. Going so far as replicating Vincent Van Gogh’s style and utilizing it to narrate the artist’s essential parts of his life. A unique wonder that seemed impossible to create in the first place, but the couple managed to make that impossible happen.
The thought of making animation this grand is fortunately not a one-off. ‘The Peasants’ continues to ramp the stakes even further. This time, adapting Władysław Reymont’s novel of the same name, narrating the story of Jagna, a young female peasant whose life is intertwined with the circumstances of other families. It’s a peek into what happens in the village of Lipce, separated across four seasons that open up the stories of these residents.
Right from the jump, the film makes use of that visual spectacle in all of its glory. The familiar use of rotoscope alongside curation of a realistic, rural art style allows the village of Lipce to be filled with spirit; every painted detail across its vivid and hasty sequences all make for gorgeous visual eye candy. With the film set in all four seasons, no color or tone is left unused. Everything is maximized to great effect.
The greatest aspect of pulling an encompassing display of animation is how it elevates the culture of this village, as well as the underlying tension that is shown through specific scenes. The Polish folk song and dance become mesmerizing to see until you witness the adultery that occurs behind the scenes. The fight between the villagers and the nobles is destructive, laying the perfect setting for a potential assassination in plain sight. A wedding ritual between a widowed man and a young woman that should be moving, but the somber expression that dawns on that young woman’s face changes the overall picture. Moments such as these are what make the film stirring.
The pairing of such stylistic ambition with evocative sequences uplifts the overall story. A display of how a spunky and spirited young Jagna becomes entangled in the interconnected relationships and dramas that persist within the village. Not to mention, a dose of religious traditionalism that she tries to break out of, but can’t. Throughout the span of all these seasons, we also witness not only Jagna’s struggles, but also the other pivotal characters as well. Constantly changing their own trust and faith towards one another.
It all builds off to this devastatingly grounded, and also succumbing, display of Jagna’s experiences in Lipce. Every time she is close to getting out of patriarchal control, she is being pulled back and continues to be harmed by their hands. Every moment she refuses to sit down in the village’s religious and social norms, she only receives a scolding. It is these constant moments – paired with the drama shown through Antok, Hanka, and Barciej – that might create this dynamic social conflict that’s engaging in its seriousness, but it never leaves space for Jagna to breathe freely. Always treated horribly by a village that used her for her youthful beauty and then disposed of her when she’s suspected of unjust shame.
It is within the final stretch of the film that it involves its rivetingly striking, but immensely tough scenes. Everyone is now rallying towards Jagna’s house, beating her down and stripping her naked. They put her in a cart and threw her into a field of dirt. Everyone leaves, and Jagna is left lying down as the rain comes pouring down on her. For once, the film finally exhales and gives a gratifying ending for Jagna. The rain washes the dirt that the village has thrown at her; her body is now made anew. Perhaps, in this act of cleansing, the peasant can finally walk away to new horizons, never looking back at the village that shunned her away.
by Sami Salazar | Sep 12, 2025
Written by: Sami Salazar
When I turned ten, I only have one wish: to turn eleven. I remember my parents lying about my age just so I could sneak into an R-13 film at the mall. In high school, I envied classmates who were allowed to drink. At some point in our early years, we all wish for the clock to turn faster. That cycle never really stops for we crave freedom as kids, until the moment we begin to understand what aging truly means. And now, writing this at an age where I am old enough to be free to do whatever I want, I’ve realized that age was never the only thing keeping the youth from feeling free. The adults who shape the foundations of our lives hold an even greater responsibility: to ensure that the young, not only dream of freedom, but actually live it.
Being a filmmaker and as someone with a deep empathy for children, it only felt natural that I felt a need to see this year’s batch of young filmmakers who intend to shine light for the youth. This September 5-7, 2025, 10 youth-centered films were showcased for the 8th Edition of Sine Kabataan.
“Sa Tumoy sa Walay Kahumanan [After the (G)rain is Gone]” by Von Jorge Actub
The festival starts with the only Mindanaoan film in the festival. It follows Bitoy (James Sargueza), an 8-year-old son of a housewife and a bruised farmer living in a remote village. His belief that bigas heals all problems drives the story forward into an end that proves him wrong.
The film captures how wounds carried by one generation inevitably shape the next. It suggests that healing cannot come from quick remedies but from a slow and patient struggle against the roots of pain,in this case, the violent farmers overseer. The cinematography by Bagane Fiola drags us into the melancholic, poetic, and unhurried remote plains. It ends on a momentous image: Batoy and his parents staring at each other from meters away as they all freeze in the plains, each of them holding a different phase of the rice crop—from the mud, to what is served on the plate. And slowly, Bitoy mushes the rice in his hand as he grips onto it tightly. The shot becomes a quiet revelation of experiences passed down from harvest, hardship, survival, until the child is the one who must finally eat what was sown before him. The film does not shy away from showing that sometimes, the “solutions” handed down are harsh, even barbaric, yet they still shape the ground the next generation must stand on.
“4 Better or 4 Worse” by Ronjay Mendiola
The film is a heartfelt portrayal of friendship, resilience, and the struggles faced by the LGBTQIA+ community in a society that often denies them proper healthcare and acceptance. The film follows four friends—Jen (Alon Sinag), Tintoy (Ronjae Realubin), Barbara (Pau Gutierrez), and Bianca (Gerson Raven), whose bond is tested by Jen’s health crisis and the weight of financial burdens. With Tintoy, Barbara and Bianca joining beauty pageants to raise money for Jen’s hospital bills, the narrative highlights not just their unwavering love and sacrifice but also the systemic neglect that forces marginalized communities to fight twice as hard for dignity and survival.
What makes the story impactful is how it interweaves personal battles with broader social issues. Tintoy’s powerful statement during the Q&A portion: that there is no safe way for people like them to transition, captures the urgency of inclusive healthcare reform. More than just a film about friendship and love, 4 Better or 4 Worse is a call to action: to respect, protect, and embrace diverse identities. As the film reminds us, “Progress is meaningless if compassion is left behind.”
“Due Date na ni Judith” by Kieth Earl Rebaño
Kieth Rebaño’s surrealist short is about Judith (Jorrybell Agoto), who is hastily getting closer to her due date in her pregnancy and in due bills. We follow Judith in a stylized world with a giant phallus, pregnant mosangs and basketball players.
This film is wide open to interpretation, owing to its nature as a surrealist absurd comedy. It made me contemplate if the meaning I drew was truly what was intended. Its surreal narrative and absurdist treatment of storytelling feel fitting, because reality itself can be just as absurd. Life grows inside young women, so do the expenses they are forced to carry. The clever play in the title, where “due date” refers not only to pregnancy but also to unpaid bills, is also one to be admired. Beneath the humor lies a lonely truth—the isolating weight of early pregnancy, where financial burdens which grow “exponentially” can take up more space in one’s mind than the people who actually matter. Ending on the strange but painful reality that growing up too fast means inheriting responsibilities that strip away the freedom youth should have had.
“Blooming!” by Ronnie Ramos
When Nena (Annika Co), a grade schooler, is asked to identify the different parts of a flower, the lesson takes an unexpected turn, questions shifting from petals and stems to the unfamiliar changes in her own body. A simple classroom task becomes a quiet confrontation with the overwhelming changes in growing up.
Though the transition to womanhood isn’t my own first-hand experience, the film is directed with such tenderness that it feels universal. It reminds us of the overwhelming changes we all endured in grade school. It captures the shift from carefree childhood into the daunting world of womanhood, using flowers as playful yet powerful symbols of growth. I laughed at the small, familiar moments of girlhood it portrayed, memories vivid as I grew up with two sisters. It gave us a gentle reminder that those who care for us most are often those who walk the same path beside us, becoming a vital pillar of support. The influence of Apichatpong can also unmistakenly be felt in its dream-like sequences, reflecting how body changes can feel surreal and disorienting for children, an effect further brought to life by Martika Escobar’s blooming cinematography.
“Sunog sa Sugbo” by Jon Owen Lepiten
Koy (Elj Seth Tababa), whose family is staying in the evacuation center due to a fire, is opened to start the same thing that victimized his family. “Sunog Sa Sugbo” is for me, the most provocative film in the lineup. The collaboration of Jon Lepiten and Kirk Nuñez resulted in a drowning image of a burning issue.
It tackled a dangerous yet relevant truth: how fire becomes an epitome of devastation for the poor, yet a tool of power for those who benefit from clearing communities out. Watching it reminded me of the repeated fires in Addition Hills, Mandaluyong. Allegedly intentional, these fires are displacing hundreds of families while authorities offered fewer and fewer answers. What makes this matter even more painful is how children are forced to grow up in an environment where home is never guaranteed and safety is conditional. Some even partake in these cycles just to keep themselves adequate. I loved how the film ended with the parallelism of water and fire, symbols of birth and death, freedom and destruction. But how can the youth ever feel free, when the very ground they stand on can be taken away in flames?
“City’s Laundry & Taxes” by Diana Galang
Also one of the provocative films in the lineup, takes us to a small town outside Manila in 2017, where the son of a laundromat owner, played by Louise Abuel, discovers his missing classmate’s ID tucked inside a policeman’s dirty uniform. We follow him as he contemplates on publicly publishing the dirty secret that one of their loyal customers keep.
The film echoes a grim reality: children as victims of extrajudicial killings, particularly during an infamous time when the government abused their authority. It shows how some policemen became numb to the very crimes they committed, their loss of conscience spilling into carelessness, turning justice against those it should protect. And yet, even in fear, children know what they see—and they remember. Rare moments of courage, like the one in this film, remind us that silence can be broken, even by the youngest voices. But if we won’t remember them, who will? As the film explicitly says, there are stains that couldn’t be erased, or rather, shouldn’t be.
“Signal Pending” by Lourchielle Hael
The only animation film in the lineup, shares a feelgood story of a desperate graduating med-student named Max the Bunny, searching for usable internet signal to pass their final thesis work. Going all in, no matter how far it brings them.
It was a simple yet relevant, light-hearted addition to the lineup. The film underscored how deeply our community values education, especially in the medical field, but also how access to opportunity remains unequal. Even in a time when Wi-Fi seems everywhere, it reminds us that it is still a privilege, often denied to the very students who need it most. This everyday struggle points to a larger truth that the drive of the youth will always matter, but without the resources to support their learning, that drive risks being left unrealized. Definitely, another creative pride of University of Makati in the field of student animated films.
“Elephant Paths” by Joshua de Vera
In a fading town in Bulacan, four teenage misfits, Lance (Jansen Magpusao), Maya (Ysobel Refulgente), Alon (Air Salazar), and Kidlat (Bon Lentejas), find solace in each other’s company. Together, they carve out a hidden path, a sanctuary built from stolen scraps of belonging. Their quiet rebellion unfolds against the erasure of their hometown, where every step feels both fragile and defiant.
The term “elephant paths” may describe the wear and tear left by constant foot traffic, yet real elephants are said to be gentle with their steps. This paradox mirrors how relocation violently uproots both families and the land that once grew freely, just like the children who are displaced along with it. Stripped of spaces where they can simply exist, the youth are forced to improvise, carving out makeshift grounds where they can still be themselves and continue to dream. It is a quiet reminder that when the foundations of freedom are taken away, young people will find their own paths, even if they must tread them softly against the weight of the world.
“Coding si Papa” by Michael Angelo Pogoy
One of the most hard-hitting films for this year’s Sine Kabataan is a story of Gelo (Zed Martin), as he tries to collect money in hopes to afford a day off his father’s tricycle rounds.
Usually, when I want to write about the films I consume, I jot down notes as the film rolls in order to remember. This film left me without notes—not because it lacked substance, but because I couldn’t stop wiping my tears long enough to write them. On paper, it tells a simple story, yet the direction of the film pulled me fully into Gelo’s world, convincing me that I am Gelo. The film is light, hopeful in tone and filled with good intentions, but my sympathy was left entirely with Gelo. The sad truth is that not every child gets to be like him. Many Filipino breadwinners sacrifice time with their families just to stay afloat, and not all children are given the luxury of presence. It is heartbreaking that so many grow up with loneliness, forced into a call for action too soon, carrying a burden beyond their years. It broke me to think of literal children wishing they could pay their parents’ salary just to buy a day off, a single day of being truly seen. To wish that all children who dreamt to be a wish-granting fairy, become one someday.
“When it Rained Malunggay Leaves” by Cedrick James Valenzuela
A perfect closing film for the festival, the film shares a picture of Ariel (Gabby Padilla) who returns to her home province which houses her lone mother, Anita (Tanya Gomez), to spend All Saint’s Day together after a long separation. Exploring their wounds inside and out, it is almost as if they take turns in having the role of a ‘mother’.
Anita and Ariel are bound together by something as simple as malunggay leaves. Only Ariel can hand them to her mother, and in turn nourishes and heals her wound. The malunggay transforms into a symbol of a mutual attempt to heal, of how pain and care are passed across generations, and how sometimes the smallest gestures can carry the weight of forgiveness. I believe the director achieved his goal of creating a stylized film that could reach a wide array of audiences without losing its intimacy and sincerity. For me, these further amplify the film’s deserved success in being awarded Best Film and Best Screenplay for this year’s batch, affirming both its craft and the relatability it provides especially to the Filipino audience. It carried the essence of Sine Kabataan, offering us lenses not just to witness the exhausting agencies and scars of today’s youth, but to recognize the child within each of us beings who still aches, yearns, and oftentimes, still regrets.
The ten films of Sine Kabataan 2025 displayed this generation who ought to fight for the youth. The generation that came before, in their love and in their failings, raised children who now carry both the weight of their scars and the strength to stand on their own. These stories reveal not only the struggles of the young but also the imprints left by parents, communities, and institutions which are sometimes tender, sometimes harsh. Sine Kabataan made us talk to our inner child, see our current selves, and persuade us to be one with the next generations of wishers.
